Shaggy dog story

"It seems I only have time to post on this blog when my mental capacity is severely limited. This is not a caveat to excuse the following, merely an observation."

I wrote these words over a week ago, when I'd intended to start an entry which never materialised. This is the way of things, and has been for some time. And so something which might've contained thoughts about classic films or recent events in South East London (both were in the offing) is now going to be a rather reflexive piece about sleep deprivation.

One advantage: by necessity it won't be long, given incapacitated mental function. There'll be no historical or social context; no great psychodynamic overshare on my part either - too tired for all of that. Instead, something struck me just last night about how not getting enough sleep has changed my interior landscape. As I was laying head on pillow - much too late as ever - I realised that for quite some time now I have not been thinking and reflecting. If we're busy, that's hardly an issue, since we're focused on matters at hand. But I'm talking pretty much all the time. My usual maelstrom of thoughts and worries (which become the neurotic) has devolved into a series of mood states. If I were trying to throw a positive spin on this, I'd go all Eastern on myself and contend that it's good to have switched off. Finally I am 'being'. But that would be baloney. Far from some meditative trance state, this is chemical imbalance. Involuntary shutting down.

To use a sturdy metaphor (which is remarkable, given how little of that thinking thing is going on), my inner world used to be a book: sometimes rambling like Proust, sometimes intensely obsessive like Beckett, and sometimes (may I be so bold) as bucolic as Wordsworth or as sharp as Carver. Nowadays, it's not even a picture book. Instead of The Very Hungry Caterpillar we have a Dulux Colour Chart.

Don't get your hopes up, there's no neat summation, no satisfying conclusion here. Just a few more sentences and you can carry on with your day. And don't consider suggesting sleep remedies either, it's not that kind of blog. It's just been one person thinking about not thinking. Which is a strange thing. Maybe I'll write a poem about it. A lazy haiku, though - nice and easy does it.